


Hate, Love, And The Other Ones

by aphVirginia



Category: Villainous (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Child Abuse, I feel bad for Flug tbh the poor boi, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Paperhat - Freeform, Past Child Abuse, Self Harm, Slow Burn, Suicide reference, bur lowkey cannibalism, mentions of child abuse, nonconsentual cannibalism, refernce to self harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-08 10:52:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11080080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphVirginia/pseuds/aphVirginia
Summary: Dr. Flug is tired. So, so tired. Black Hat is doing his best, but that might not be good enough.





	1. Chapter 1

If Flug was being honest with himself, he often thought back to how he’d gotten into the villainy business.

He’d left college with doctorates in Quantum Mechanics, Mechanical Engineering, Chemical Engineering, and Cyber Security. He’d thought the job market would seek him out; in fact, he’d had several jobs lined up to take him under their wing. Research positions for various governments, many for doing what he did best: inventing things. Something always felt off about those positions. Security clearances were a pain, he’d have to work on a tight schedule; that was what he told himself as he looked into other options. Student loans wouldn’t pay themselves, after all.

At that time, he’d gone by a different name. He… didn’t use that name anymore. Too much publicity nowadays from his work with Black Hat. Besides, his mother would be so disappointed in her golden boy if she knew the truth.

He’d met Black Hat due to an explosion in his dingy student apartment complex. The man had exploded an apartment three doors down from his own, one that obliterated the surrounding walls of all the apartments within a radius of 50 feet. His kitchen—his beautiful, spotless kitchen—was exposed to the elements and the villain. Rather than flee like the rest of the tenants, he opted to defend what little he had.

In the span of 15 seconds, he’d gutted his microwave and toaster apart. Working quickly, he’d pieced together a weapon to defend himself from the monologuing villain. Steeling his heartbeat, he aimed his weapon at the beast. He hadn’t been noticed yet—

He fired.

The heat generated from the weapon was enough for him to drop it with a yelp of pain, eyes watering from the second-degree burns he’d received. Of course he’d have been caught without his gloves; already, blisters were forming on his hands.

“ **Who are you?** ” His heartbeat froze, fear raking its claws deep into his back. Trembling, quivering like a leaf, he peered up at the shockingly tall beast of a man. Greenish-yellow teeth were showing, a wolfish smirk that promised agonizing pain.

“I-I…” He didn’t have a response. The man’s black top hat was missing a chunk near the top, singed where the laser had hit it.

The man in the top hat sighed, shaking his head. “ ** _Never mind_. Kid, where the hell did you get a gun like that?** ” Gloved hands pointed towards his weapon. HIS weapon.

“Uh…”

“ **The thing’s fugly, but I’ll be damned if it doesn’t work. Now, tell me who…”** The man’s voice trailed off, assessing the state of Flug’s poor toaster and microwave.

“ **You made it, didn’t you?** ” And his life changed.

Black Hat hadn’t given him a chance to respond; the man had simply picked him up and took him into what could only be described as the void. He could see nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing—

And suddenly he was in a place he’d never been before.

He’d dubbed what Black Hat did there as a shadow step. It fit the man’s personality. Perhaps that was what dark matter was for…

 

* * *

 

Life stayed constant after that.

Day in, day out, he worked for Black Hat under the threat of imminent death. He was given a suite in the man’s mansion, though he’d be the first to admit that he rarely used it. He lived, worked, and breathed the machines in the lab. At some point, he just… stopped caring. It became normal, routine; he expected it. Black Hat started paying him—probably after walking in on him passed out in the middle of working on something that was shooting up sparks one too many times.

He missed his mother. He’d call her sometimes, let her know that he was all right; he missed the smell of his childhood home, the way his mom could wash his worries away with just a hug, the way her homemade chocolate chip cookies just melted in his mouth…

He’d noticed the spiral when it started. He tried fighting it back—distracted himself with work, made his mind busy so that his feelings wouldn’t stagnate and boil into a frothy nothingness. It worked for a little while, but it didn’t last.

His work started becoming sub-par to his standards. The machine he saw in his mind was nowhere close enough to what he was capable of creating. He started looking for other methods of battling the darkness, nonconventional methods. He stopped sleeping, stopped eating; Black Hat seemed not to notice.

Slowly, he weened himself off of his work, started using his suite more. He’d thought sleep would help; it only brought the mind-numbing nightmares that kept him shell-shocked for the day. Now Black Hat kept giving him odd glances throughout the day, kept pushing him to work harder and create better things. He was drowning, dying, with no idea which direction was up.

He found the pocket knife in a drawer of his workstation one day. It looked relatively new, a bland style that matched none of the mansion’s occupants. Brown handle, small yet sturdy blade. He waited a week after its discovery to take it. If he was seen limping the day after he’d taken it and sterilized it, nobody called him out on it.

 

* * *

 

“ **You need to eat.** ” Black hat peered down at him, setting a plated peanut butter and jelly sandwich on his desk. “ **I haven’t seen you touch anything edible in the past three days.** ”

“S’fine.” Flug replies, eyes locked on the gadget he was fiddling with. He wasn’t sure what it was—some sort of gravitational controller, perhaps? Maybe it was a really powerful grenade. “I had an apple for breakfast about an hour ago.” That wasn’t true, but it had gotten his boss to fuck off before--

“ **You haven’t left this room since last night. I checked the security feed before I came in here.** ” Shit. He was royally fucked. There were few things Black Hat didn’t tolerate; lying was at the top of that man’s list.

Flug’s hands stop moving, dead eyes looking up through his tinted safety goggles to meet Hat’s emotionless ones. It was odd, he noted; Black Hat rarely hid emotions. He’d either done something very bad or he was about to get killed simply for knowing too much.

“ **Flug, is there something I ought to know about?** ” The tone of the man’s voice shocked Flug the most. It was… gentle. Kind. It was so foreign to hear from Black Hat; the closest he’d heard that tone before was that time his original bag had caught fire when he’d passed out from exhaustion.

“No, nothing that matters.” The deadness of his own voice shocked him; judging by Hat’s look of absolute bewilderment, he’d done the same to the other. “Please, just let me work.”

“ **… No.** ” What?

“What?” Confusion mingled with the deadness of his voice. Hey, at least it was _an_ emotion.

“ **I said no. Flug, take a break. Eat the sandwich, go do… whatever it is you do in your free time**.” Flug stared at the other before slowly standing up.

“Do you know what I do with my free time?” Flug’s soft voice echoes in the suddenly silent room. Why was he talking. W h y. His mouth was running before his mind; somewhere deep inside, he knew this was a conversation he couldn’t take back.

“I work. I don’t _get_ free time.” Here it comes. “I work, I eat, I shit, I sleep. Sometimes I go get more bags if I’ve worked hard enough. I don’t give myself free time, I can’t remember the last time I got a proper night’s sleep; let alone sleeping in a bed; and I _certainly_ don’t give a damn if you tell me I’m not allowed to work. I’ll find a way. So, respectfully: kindly fuck off and let me do my goddamn job.” With that, he went back to working on his device. He didn’t want to see Hat’s reaction to his words.

Silence echoes through the room, the only sound the soft clinks emanating from the device he was working on. It was as if a predator prowled the room, and the first person to speak would be it’s prey. Flug would keep silent; if there’s one thing he knew he was better at than Black Hat, it was having patience.

“ **Flug—** “ The silence shattered, atmosphere unchanged.

“ _Doctor_ Flug. I didn’t get my goddamn doctorates for no fucking reason.” The world started to get blurry, his paper bag starting to get damp. Exhaustion, he was sure of it. When he blinked, the blurriness faded away for a moment. Water trickled down his cheek—sweat. Definitely sweat. He wasn’t crying… right?

“ **\--put down the invention and look at me.** ” Odd request. He chose not to follow it.

A pair of black, clawed paw-like hands covered his. They gently forced the unfinished invention to the table, prying his hands free from the device. Carefully, one of them lifted to his chin and tilted his head up. Unwillingly, his eyes met Black Hat’s.

Black Hat’s demeanor had completely changed. What was usually a creature of pure, unbridled rage was currently looking at him as if he were precious. The man had pulled at complete 180 from his usual attitude, observing Flug like the scientist was worth protecting. It was… confusing. It hurt, in an odd sort of way; when was the last time someone had looked at him like he was even human?

“ **It’s okay, Flug. I understand. I… I’m not the best at this stuff. But…** ” Black Hat sighed softly, gently thumbing away tears that had managed to collect at Flug’s chin. “ **I’m sorry. For how I’ve been treating you. For being oblivious. I don’t…** ” Black hat paused, as if to gather courage or to determine the best phrasing for what was going to be said.

“ **I don’t want to lose you.”**


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flug has realizations. Black Hat determines things. Nothing is fixed, not yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL looks like I actually didn't abandon this!! Yay!!!
> 
> Thank you all for taking the time to read this, and I hope y'all have a lovely day.
> 
> ALSO: If you wanna ask fic questions, my tumblr is land-of-dragons-and-frogs.tumblr.com come say hi!

Flug’s world unraveled at the seams. Black Hat… cared about him? Since _when_? Sure, he hadn’t been his normal self lately…

He needed to put up a better mask, is all. His boss, of all people, shouldn’t have to deal with this mess. Maybe get a better bag.

“I-I…” He couldn’t put his thoughts into words, was unable to. A part of him wanted to pull away, to run as fast as he could and never look back. Another part of him craved the gentle touch, the way he was being looked at as if he had more value than a McDonalds Big Mac in the eyes of a starving man. Still… He knew that Black Hat could get another scientist. At least then the other wouldn’t have to deal with something so broken.

 It was a foreign feeling, being wanted. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt wanted, needed… Maybe it was the last time he’d gone to visit his mother? He’d missed too many birthdays, holidays, Christmases, he wasn’t sure when _that_ had been. His mother had replaced him with a dog, he knew. He was sure she was happier that way.

“I’m easy enough to replace…” He wasn’t sure why he’d said that. It was the truth, but still.

“ **No.** ” Black Hat, behind him in the blink of an eye, scooped him up bridal style and held him close. “ **No, you aren’t. Even if you were, I wouldn’t replace you. Not ever.** ” He curled up on himself, making it easier for his boss to carry him. He saw the world around him begin to move; Black Hat was taking him somewhere. Odd. They left the lab quickly; he noticed that the sandwich had been left on his workstation. Oh well.

“ **Flug…** ” Flug found it difficult to place the emotion in Black Hat’s voice. Sadness? Distress? Guilt-- Oh. His boss just felt guilty, probably. His heart sank, mental state tanking with it. His boss was just… Feeling guilty, that’s all. Not an ounce of genuine compassion or kindness. The man probably felt that a debt was owed and this was how it’d be repaid.

“You hired me by kidnapping me, forced and continue to force me to work under the threat of death, only started paying me because you needed to get me medicine from when I caught the flu that one time, ruined any future employment opportunities I have if you kick the bucket unless I find another villain to work under, and only now you’re feeling guilty.” There was no accusation in the words. It was the truth.

“ **I—** “ The sudden stiffness of the man carrying him told him he’d hit the nail on the head. His heart withered into nothing, sitting in his chest like a lead brick and making breathing difficult.

“We both know that’s true. This is just you making sure I don’t eat shit and die by normal human means so you can milk me for every invention I can give. It’s what I’m being paid for, after all…” He chuckled weakly, bag crinkling in protest as he rests his head on his boss’s left shoulder. The world was getting blurry again, excess water dripping onto his familiar blue shirt and turning the paper to mush. He closed his eyes, not caring to see where he was being taken. “What’s next? Pampering? A day off? Some way to make this place feel less like a prison? It won’t work.”

Flug’s hands curled into his chest weakly, grasping gently at the material of Black Hat’s suit. Warm, he noticed, like early morning sunshine of a cool spring day.

“… besides, it’s not like I matter. I should’ve died in high school when I had the chance; at least then I wouldn’t be making my mother proud with lies.”

The silence after that statement clung to them like burrs in any sort of fur, cinched tight like nooses around their necks. Time seemed to slow, encasing them in what felt like an eternity. The soft clicking of Black Hat’s shoes on the floor sounded like a bomb going off in the quiet, Flug’s shuddery breathing thunderclaps. The usual ambient noises of the mansion were oddly silent: there was no loud music from Dementia, no crashes and clangs from the kitchen, no snoring from 5.0.5, nor even the soft creaks and groans from the mansion settling.

Black Hat shifted how Flug was held, shattered the silence.  Flug refused to open his eyes, hearing the telltale click of a door unlocking and opening. He guessed he was in his suite or Black Hat’s suite; it was more than likely the latter of the two, as he didn’t lock his door.

The clicking of boots on wooden floor halted as soon as Black Hat stepped into the room, yet Flug still felt himself moving. This, more than anything else, proved that they were not in his rooms: He didn’t have a rug, let alone a carpet, on his floor. He felt the world shift, then felt something soft holding him. His boss’s arms left him, leaving him to curl up into as small a ball he could muster in the middle of what he assumed was a bed. It was so soft and comfortable that it could have been a cloud pulled straight from heaven, complete with warm blankets that smelled distinctly of Black Hat.

He heard rustling in the room, the sound of a drawer opening and closing, and then felt a soft hand gently touch his shoulder.

“ **Flug, I’m going to go get the sandwich from the lab. There’s a spare paper bag on the nightstand since yours is a bit wet. I’ll be back, so don’t leave. Alright?** ” When Flug did not grace him with a response, Black Hat merely sighed. A moment later, Flug heard the door shut with a soft click.

Slowly, as if first learning to see, he peeked an eye open. Black Hat’s room was bigger than he’d thought; it felt empty, lonely, unused, and unneeded. He’d been placed so that he could see most of the room, his new paper bag on the nightstand as his boss had stated. There were two doors on the other side of the room, on the opposite side of the sea of what appeared to be, soft, fluffy, velvet-red carpet. The door on his left, a black door with non-transparent glass, was most likely a bathroom. The larger, sliding door on the right was probably a closet. There were two windows on the left-hand side, curtains drawn tight to keep out whatever ambient light there was. Was it daytime? He didn’t know.

After assessing the room, he slid his eye shut again. He couldn’t be bothered to move, didn’t want to move. The bed under his head was getting wet; from the bag or his tears, he couldn’t tell. He’d take what punishment was coming for him and then add onto it later. Maybe… Maybe he wouldn’t get hurt this time.

 

* * *

 

The moment Black Hat stepped out of the room, he allowed his calm façade to fall away. His clawed hands gripped his arms, piercing the fabric and his skin.

What was he doing? Why did he have to care so god damn much?

 

* * *

 

He’d noticed that something was wrong with Flug months ago. The poor man was usually a mess, but he’d started acting in a way that not even Black Hat had been anticipating. What had once resulted in screams and begging started resulting in mute acceptance, a tired man’s way out of a one-way debate. It was shocking, a stark contrast to Flug’s usual bubbly-yet-anxious nature.

At first, he’d thought it was something he could fix by laying off a bit. That seemed to work for a while, until his scientist got worse. The bubbly went away, replaced with narcissism and something else. He’d threatened to kill Flug at least once and had been met with the stare of a dead man walking. Lately, it’d gotten so bad that Dementia had brought it to his attention that night.

“Hey, Black Hat?” She’d called out to him, usual fawning and overall happy-go-lucky nature at stark contrast to the pure concern and worry written across her face. She was in her pajamas, a lizard onesie with matching slippers. Usually, he’d dismiss her; this… felt too serious for such pleasantries.

“ **Yes?** ”

“There’s… There’s something wrong with Flug.” She’d fidgeted, looking at the world with eyes that saw something else.

“He… Well, I was snooping through his room—“ He raised an eyebrow, but did not speak to chastise her. “—and I found something. I…” She paused, taking a deep breath. Fear slid down his spine, icy hot and filing the cruelty away for later.

“Black Hat, he has a knife that _reeks_ of his own blood.”

“ **… Are you implying what I think you’re implying?** ” How he’d remained calm, he didn’t know. Sheer willpower, fear, uncertainty?

“T-that’s not all. I, uh… He fell asleep at his workstation. So I checked. His arms…” Dementia swallowed, her arms wrapping around herself without her noticing. Her eyes looked haunted, filled to the brim with tears that refused to spill. “They were covered in bandages. I-I didn’t check his legs, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d hurt himself there too. He’s gone in with a slight limp on days after you’d threatened to kill him.”

“ **… Dementia, do you know the last time Flug ate something?** ” She looked at him with confusion, head tilted like a dog, before making the connection.

“No, but you could check the security feed. See if he’s had a snack or something.”

He’d left the room without another word, using his abilities to appear before his security system. It hadn’t taken long to find the lab feeds and the kitchen feed, nor did it take him a long time to rewind through them. Flug… Well, to say he was horrified was an understatement.

Flug hadn’t left the lab, save to use the bathroom, since Tuesday morning. Today was a Friday, at night.

He’d needed to do something.

 

* * *

 

He growled softly, leaning back on his door and ignoring the pinpricks of pain as his claws sank into his flesh. He pretended the green of his blood wasn’t staining his suit, that it felt the world wasn’t falling to pieces because of his revelation.

 

Flug was…

 

Flug was trying to work himself to death.

 

Shakily, he pushed himself off the wall and made his way to the lab. He had a scientist to feed and a rather long think to have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, friends!!! This chapter is a bit on the heavy side, so be warned; the tags and rating have been updated to show this.
> 
> Also: I have a survey for things to happen in the future of this fic. I'd like all of your opinions on what goes on; it's short and has three questions. Mobile users, this link will be on the blog post for this fic!!!
> 
> This link will be open until 12pm EST on Saturday the 10th; after that, no more responses will be counted. You can only submit once, so make it count!!!
> 
> Link to the survey: https://www.surveymonkey.com/r/3V2PLKS
> 
> Edit: Added some details and altered some word choices. Also, the survey is now closed.

Black Hat entered Flug’s lab, soft humming coming from various machinery throughout the space. His weary eyes scanned the room, landing on the lab table Flug had been working at. The unfinished invention remained as it had been, but the sandwich had disappeared. It had been replaced with a bowl with steaming liquid inside; as he approached, he detected a smell that could only really be described as home.

“Oh, you're back!” Dementia’s voice made him jump, spinning on his heel to face her. She held what appeared to be a bundle of cloth behind her back, a smile plastered over her worry and anxiety like a bad patchwork job over a tear in a hot air bballoon.

“I made him some chicken noodle soup from one of the canned things in the pantry. It's better than a sandwich, that's for sure.” He felt what little blood he had drain from his face, eyes widening in horror. He’d forgotten about Flug’s invention, to create a person’s worst fear; did Flug’s fear apply to all sandwiches? WAS the man even actually afraid of sandwiches, or something mentally tied to them through trauma?

“ **… I wasn’t even thinking…** “ He whispered, hearing the horror and unabashed guilt dripping from his voice like sickly sweet honey. His mind jumped to his behavior, guilt biting deep into the memories of him finding joy in scaring or harming his scientist. Him, _intentionally_ making his fav— his scientist to feel unsafe. It made his blood boil, caused his vision to get hazy around the edges. No wonder Flug didn’t like him, not in the way he liked the man.

“I know. It’s why I fixed it for you.” She hesitated, then revealed what was hidden behind her back: a ratty, moth-eaten, well-worn long-sleeve shirt and equally well-loved pajama pants.

“ **They’re for Flug?** ” His voice betrayed his anguish. Dementia, bless her heart, didn’t call him out on it.

“Yeah. I had 5.0.5 find them for me while I was cooking.” She set them down on a nearby tray that was usually used to transport chemical vats from one place in the lab to another, moving quickly to place the soup and a spoon procured from somewhere next to the cloth. “Apparently, Flug has a little dog plushie that he apparently sleeps with. I figured he’d die of embarrassment if you showed up with food, pajamas, **and** the plushie, so 5.0.5 left it where it was.”

“ **Dementia…** ” He was at a loss for words. He never really realized just how serious she could be when she got concerned about one of them. He didn’t have the words to thank her for this, but he’d be damned if he didn’t find a way.

He promised himself to treat her better. Maybe next time she asked him on a date he’d agree, just to make her happy.

 

* * *

 

Flug was dreaming.

He was five, locked in a tiny room in the basement of his old house. His new room—he had problems remembering the room he’d had before this, even as an adult—was just big enough to give him about a foot of space between the four walls and the sad mattress he’d been given. It was hidden behind lock and key, the walls sound-proof and lightless. He knew that there were at least three doors between his small, scrawny frame and freedom; all he could do was wait and pray for freedom or forgiveness.

He wasn’t sure what made the man he’d once called his father do this to him. One day he and his old man were fishing while his mother laughed at them, the next he was cast into the basement without reasoning. His father only came down once a day, at a time he knew his mother wasn’t home, to feed and beat him. He tried everything: pleading, begging for forgiveness, apologizing for whatever he’d done wrong, promising to come right back when he was done seeing his mother one more time—

Nothing had worked on that stone-cold man.

So, day after day, he was force fed a disgusting sandwich and then beaten for not eating quickly enough, not being good enough, or just because his father wished to cause him harm.

The physical abuse wasn’t what shook him to the core; it was the emotional abuse, the implication that this punishment was for Flug’s own good and that his mother knew and approved of this treatment, that his meals were made out of his mother or his pets or his sibling, that caused him to crack and shatter like an egg thrown at a wall.

He screamed, he cried, he stopped eating. His father didn’t care. His father didn’t want him.

On the rare occasions he was allowed out of that little room to bathe, he would try to leave a note for his mother. Try to let her know that he was alive, that he was sorry he’d been bad but could she please let him out of that room?

His mother never found the notes. His father made sure of that. He… always got extra beatings after that, and wouldn’t get fed for a while.

 

He remembered the day he’d obtained his freedom vividly. So vividly that he would dream it, yet he would never succeed. He didn’t deserve it, didn’t earn it. His mother didn’t deserve the heartbreak and the disgusting _thing_ she had for a son.

He’d been allowed to bathe that day. His father was in the restroom with him, watching him like a hawk as he sped through his shower as quickly as he could.

The sound of a car door slamming caused adrenalin to start pumping through his system.

It caused his father’s face to go ashy white.

The man grabbed him, flung him from the bathroom and down the dingy staircase of the basement.

“ROOM, NOW!!!” The man had bellowed, fear blatantly obvious in his tone of voice.

He grabbed a lamp, charging up the stairs with a shout of pent-up aggression.

His father sidestepped, grabbing him on the lunge and flinging him back down the stairs.

His head hit the wall with a sharp crack, a yelp of pain escaping his lips as his vision went blurry. Blood, hot and warm, trickled from the wound.

He saw his father trample down the stairs.

He saw his mother looking down at the two of them from the top.

A look of pure disgust was plastered on her face. It felt wrong, like she wasn’t supposed to make that face.

“What are you doing out of your room _?_ ” Her voice was icy-cold; his father relaxed, fear replaced with a deadly malice. _She—She wasn’t supposed to do that, he knew in reality she’d called the cops_ \--

“He tried to attack me, dear. I’ll put him back in his room.” His father grabbed him roughly by the arm, nearly breaking it. Pain, pure agony tore through his body as his arm was pulled from its socket, a fresh scream of pain torn from his lips— _No no no, this was wrong this wasn’t right this wasn’t true this wasn’t what had happened he’d been saved_ —

“Take care of the gremlin. I’ll go make him another sibling sandwich~” _NononononONONONONO THIS WASN’T HAPPENING **THIS WASN’T WHAT HAPPENED**_ —

 

* * *

 

Black Hat opened the door to find Flug twitching and mumbling, crying and spewing incomprehensible gibberish. It didn’t take much to put two and two together to assume the man was having a nightmare. It helped that the sleeping scientist was oozing fear like a broken dam.

Carefully, he set the tray on the empty side table; he noticed Flug hadn’t swapped paper bags and a soft sigh escaped his lips.

He wondered what could possibly get this reaction out of his scientist. Sure, he’d… scared the other (he swallowed down some bile at the thought), but he’d never made the other _this_ scared. Poor thing. Maybe he should… Check. He hadn’t used that kind of magic in a long time; his skills were rusty, but he was confident he could just take a peek inside the man’s head.

Nodding to himself, he sat down next to his scientist. Gently, he took Flug’s hand into his own and… relaxed.

 

* * *

 

Wrong. Wrong filled his senses, drowning out everything else.

Wrong wrong _wrong wrong wrong wrong_ —

He gained vision.

He watched, _could only watch_ , as his Flug (a young Flug, such an innocent face) was beaten to a pulp by a grown-ass man.

He watched, dread curling into abundant rage, as this man took what appeared to be a disgustingly mayo-covered sandwich from the woman. There appeared to be a raw fetus on this sandwich, one de-boned and sliced up to conveniently make it easier for Flug to eat it.

He could see the man yelling and Flug crying and screaming, but couldn’t hear it.

He gained hearing.

“—AND YOU EAT YOUR BROTHER, YOU DISGUSTING ANIMAL—“

“N-no, plea—“ The sandwich was forced into Flug’s mouth, the child—a literal child—forced to consume what must have been the same kind of sandwich for the umpteenth time.

The sandwich, he noticed, was drenched in a disgustingly large amount of mayonnaise.

The wrong seeped into his bones, making him aware of another timeline. The one where this didn’t happen, the reality in which Flug had been saved; his reality.

It didn’t stop the rage coiling in his gut, the disgust at the savagery shown to one so young. He was evil, but even he had morals.

“Eat the sandwich, sweetheart. After all, you did this to yourself.” The sugary-sweet voice of the woman shocked him, startled him so badly he almost ripped himself from the dream.

The man force-fed the child more of the meal, watching as the man force-fed the child more of that disgusting sandwich—

“ ** _That’s right, eat it._** ” The scene changed so abruptly that he wasn’t ready for it. Instead of a basement, a still-child Flug was in the lab. With a dream version of himself that replaced. That… that didn’t…

“N-no!!!” Child Flug’s body became covered in some sort of shimmery substance; the dream version of something holding a person still?

“ ** _5.0.5 was of no use to us anyways. Eat or you die._** ” Black Hat shut his eyes, refusing to believe what he was witnessing. He would never…

Did…

Did Flug honestly…

 

He removed himself from the dream; he’d seen enough.

He scooped the sleeping Flug into his chest, holding onto the man like a lifeline. He didn’t have time to cry, to think of what took place in the dream; Judging by how Flug was acting, it only got worse from there.

“ **Flug—** “ He hated the way his voice cracked, like it sounded he was barely holding back tears. It was true, but he still didn’t like it; he needed to be strong right now. “ **Flug, wake up. I-I’m here.** ”

He felt waves of emotions rolling off the man’s body; fear, agony, relief, and many others. He tasted the dark licorice of an underlying urge to do something bad; he held his scientist close, humming softly and rubbing the man’s back. His humming slipped into purring, an old habit resurfaced; he hoped it helped his scientist.

“ **I’m here, Flug. I’m here, I won’t hurt you anymore.** ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this!!! Survey results will apply to the fic from chapter five on out; be ready!!
> 
> Also, thank you to all who leave comments. It means a lot to me that y'all take the time to let me know how you feel about my stuff. I hope you all have a lovely day <3

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope I don't accidentally abandon this beautiful fic


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